


I'll Be Home for Christmas

by SailorLestrade



Category: The Beatles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 22:25:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorLestrade/pseuds/SailorLestrade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wants to make it home in time for Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be Home for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a_stale_end_piece_of_white_bread](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_stale_end_piece_of_white_bread/gifts).



> I wish I owned the rights to Beatles stuff

It was snowing at Kenwood as young Julian Lennon looked out the window. On certain days, you could see through the gate to see people or cars. But there were no people or cars today. Just snow and gray skies. Julian sighed and hopped off of his little window bench. He walked into the kitchen where his mom was busy baking cookies and other holiday treats. It was warm and cozy in there. Even with the firing roaring in the main room, the house just seemed cold.

Cynthia Lennon was busy putting the finishing touches on a batch of gingerbread when her only child walked into the kitchen. Cynthia smiled at her son. Julian just waved and grabbed a sugar cookie off the plate.

“What’s wrong honey?” Cynthia asked. Julian just sighed. Cynthia knew her son was a little depressed for Christmas, but she didn’t know it was going to be this bad. “Do you have your Christmas list for Santa wrote out yet?” She asked.

“Santa’s not real.” Julian sad. Cynthia frowned a little.

“And what makes you say that?” She asked. She knew exactly who had probably told him.

“Bobby Jackson said I don’t get Christmas this year because Daddy’s not home and Daddy is Santa.” Julian said. “So Santa’s not real because Daddy’s away.” Cynthia sighed. She honestly wanted to wait longer before telling Julian what she herself had believed in until her teens, but sadly, that wasn’t the case.

“Well, why don’t you still go make a list. You may be shocked about the magic of Christmas.” Cynthia smiled. Julian sighed.

“Whatever you say.” He shuffled to his room. Cynthia sighed. She wished she knew where exactly John was. He needed to be here for Christmas.

\----------

Julian came into Cynthia’s room a couple hours later. She was reading a book when she saw her son walk in. She replaced the bookmark and laid the book down.

“Hey honey.” She said. Julian set on her bed. She saw a crumpled up piece of paper in his hand. “Watchya go there honey?” He sighed.

“My letter to Santa.” He said softly. He handed her the paper and jumped off her bed.

“Where are ya goin’ Julian?” She asked. He looked at her.

“I already know what I want for Christmas.” Julian said. “I don’t need you to read it to me again.” He quickly left. Cynthia watched him shut the door then unfolded the paper. There, in chicken scratch handwriting that ran common in the Lennon family, was the simple letter Julian had wrote.

“Dear Santa,” It started. “I already have a lot because Uncle Paul calls me spoiled.” Cynthia giggled. “But there’s one thing I don’t have that I want for Christmas. I want my daddy to come home. Please and thank you. Julian Lennon.”

Cynthia felt tears in her eyes as she reread the little note. She felt so bad for Julian. John should be ashamed of himself. He gave his own father grief for not being around when he was a kid and he was doing the same thing to Julian. Cynthia sprang out of bed then; a woman on a mission.

\---------

“Mail call!” Brian called out to his charges who were still asleep after a wild Christmas party. A pillow flew at his head.

“Go to ‘ell Eppy.” That was John all right. Never a morning person.

“I’ve got Christmas wishes from special people.” Brian said. “Paul’s got some from Mike and James, the Asher’s, and a very special one from one Ms. Jane Asher.” Paul was out of bed quickly. He grabbed his bundle from Brian and dove back into his bed. “What’s next? Oh we’ve got some from Georgie’s mummy, plus one from his sister in America and his brother’s in London. And Ms. Pattie Boyd.” George stayed asleep. “She sent a food package.” George was up in no time.

“Dear lord George, do you ever think of anything besides food?” Paul asked. George was too busy trying to tear open the box without drooling over it to hear Paul.

“For Ringo we’ve got a letter from his mum and one from Maureen. There’s one written in crayon. I’m assuming that’s from Zak.” Ringo smiled as Paul passed him his letters. “And finally, for Mr. Grumpy, we’ve got a package from your aunt and a letter from Cynthia.”

“Oh sweet Cyn.” John said. “I hope she sent me some dirty pictures.”

“John!” Paul called out.

“Eww!” Ringo said.

“She’s almost like my sister dumb ass!” George whined. John just laughed. He set Mimi’s package to the side. He tore Cynthia’s letter opened and dumped the contents onto the bed. There were no pictures or anything remotely like that. There was just a crumpled piece of paper. John picked it up and read it. Everyone stopped what they were doing when they didn’t hear a sarcastic comment come out of John’s mouth as he read the letter.

“Johnny? You okay?” Paul asked. John just nodded, even though it was obvious he wasn’t okay. Paul set on the bed by him. “What’s your letter say?”

“It’s Julian’s letter to Santa.” John said. “The only thing he’s asking for is his daddy for Christmas.”

“Awww!” All the other men in the room said as once. John felt like a piece of shit as Julian’s words hit him.

“I need to get back to London to spend Christmas with my son.” John said. “Who wants to man up and go with me?” None of them said anything. Brian turned to leave. “I know damn well you have plans to go spend Christmas with George Martin, don’t you?”

“Well...yeah.” Brian sad.

“Well, how would you feel if he didn’t show up?”

“I’d be pretty upset.”

“Good, not I’ve got me a traveling buddy.” John said. He looked at his friends. Paul with his dog, George with his food, and Ringo with his letter from his mum. “Who else wants to volunteer to join us?” No one said anything. “Let me rephrase this. Either you come with us or I’m kicking your ass personally.”

“I’ll go!” They all yelled out together. Brian laughed.

“Pack up boys. We’ve got two days to get to London. Let’s go!”

\---------

With Martha safe on her leash, the boys headed out for the airport. They had been playing in Germany and had planned on staying there for Christmas, but John had changed all their plans. Since they’d be back in London, George was going to meet one of his brothers and Paul was going to find Jane. Then all three of them would head to Liverpool later on to visit their family. And they knew they’d get a plane. They were the Beatles after all.

“I’m afraid all the flights to London are booked.” The woman at the counter said. “We can charter you a smaller plane to take you to Paris. From there you may be able to get a ferry across the English Chanel.” She explained. Brian was about to tell her to forget it when John jumped in front of him, almost hitting him in the face as he tried to push his manager aside.

“We’ll take it!” He called out. She smiled and booked their plane. Brian, Ringo, George, and Paul all looked at each other. They all had the same look on their faces. They were in for a wild ride.

\---------

The plane probably hadn’t been looked after since World War II. There was probably chewing gum holding the propeller, yes propeller, in place. George, who was terrified of flying was letting it be known that he hated this, and John, who had a fear about the size of George’s, just kept focusing on what he was flying for. George was clawing Ringo’s arm, who had been foolish enough to offer it up in hopes that knowing that there was someone there would help George relax.

“I hate this.” George said for the hundredth time. “I really hate this. We’re all gonna die!”

“No we’re not Georgie.” Ringo said. “Just calm down.”

“I can’t calm down!” George yelled out. “We’re all gonna die in this rust bucket!”

“Hey Georgie.” John said from where he was sitting by Paul. “Wanna do me a huge favor?”

“Uh...sure?” George said, unsure of what John’s request would be.

“Shut the fuck up!” He yelled. George actually started to laugh at John’s request. That made Ringo laugh, which brought Paul to a chuckle. John smiled and soon, they were all rolling with laughter, forgetting their situation temporarily.

\-------

When they landed in Paris, George was the first one off the plane, kissing the ground of the airfield.

“Earth!” George said. “Oh sweet Mother Earth! Praise you for your stability and lack of rust!” Ringo laughed. Paul rolled his eyes. John came running down the rickety steps with his luggage in hand.

“Come on lads!” He called out. Brian stumbled out of the bunk he’d been sleeping in, missing all of George’s complaining and looking well (for someone who had just slept on a World War II cot) rested. “We have to get us a ferry to London from here.”

“Can’t we take a break?” Paul asked. “Not all of us were as smart as Eppy and decided to take a little nap on the way here. I’m tired.”

“Do you wanna explain to Julian was his daddy wasn’t home for Christmas and how Santa didn’t come through?” John asked Paul. Paul sighed.

“No...”

“Good. Now come on!” John said, taking the role as fearless leader, even though he was thankful to be out of that deathtrap as much as the other guys. “The Chanel shouldn’t be too far from here. We can hopefully charter a ferry!”

“Let’s hope so.” Ringo said. “I don’t wanna be on another plane like that anytime soon. My arm is still bruised from the last one.” 

Together, the five of them headed into Paris, where they managed to get a cab to take them to the chanel. The cabbie knew them from the posters on his daughter’s wall. After signing some autographs, they raced from the cab to the port where there was said to be a ferry. They ran into the terminal just as they were announcing the last ferry to London was leaving in five minutes. John ran to the counter with Brian close behind. The other three were a little less then running.

“Do you have any room on that trip?” John asked. “We need to get to London ASAP!”

“Have you tried flying?” The attendant asked. John’s eye twitched as he stared at the man.

“Have...have we tried...flying?” John asked. Brian backed away slowly from the counter. “HAVE WE TRIED FLYING?!?! Listen you little smelly little cheese eater! We barely got here on a propeller plane from Berlin! It was probably the only thing in the history of World War II that the German’s got to keep! I’m trying to get to London to see my son for Christmas because that’s what he wanted from Santa! Do you even have any idea who I am?! I’m John Winston Lennon of the fuckin’ Beatles!” John screamed at the attendant. He was shaking behind the counter. “Now, our you gonna let us on that ferry or am I gonna have to get nasty?”

“Y-you may now board the ferry.” The attendant whispered. John smiled.

“Have a nice day and a Merry Christmas.” John said. He walked over to his friends, who were all a little weary of him. “Next stop, London!” He called out. They all nodded.

\-------

The waters were a little less then calm as they made their way to London. Poor Paul was seasick almost the whole ride, even though he was quiet used to water travel. He was as thankful to finally get to London as George was when they landed in Paris.

“Well, I’m heading to Kenwood.” John said. “It’s been great traveling with you guys. I assume George will be heading home now and Paul and Ringo will be heading to Mike’s. And Brian will be heading to George Martin’s.” They all nodded, except for George. 

“Actually, I’m meeting Pattie and my brother’s at a restaurant in the city.” He said.

“Well, until the New Year.” John said. He smiled at his friends then started the trek home.

\-------

As Christmas morning hit, Cynthia lit a fire in the fireplace as Julian ran downstairs. He ran to the tree and saw all the colorful packages under it. He then looked around the tree. Cynthia noticed.

“What’s wrong honey?” She asked.

“Where’s daddy?” Cynthia sighed and hugged her son.

“I’m sorry Jules, but sometimes...” Someone ringing the doorbell cut her off. “Who could it be on Christmas?!” She asked herself. She went to the door and looked through the peephole. She smiled. “Hey Julian, you should come here and open the door.”

“Why?” He asked. He went to the front door and opened it. He’s eyes widened and his mouth hung open as he saw the visitor. He ran and hugged his legs. “DADDY! You came home!”

John Lennon had saved Christmas.

The End


End file.
